


Magnum Opus of Shitposting: Team Dads Get Busy

by Anonymous



Category: Red vs. Blue, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Brain Damage, Epsilon Lives and i don't explain how, Hot Mess, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Miscommunication, background Lucker, bc idk i just want him alive, but it gets resolved, emphasis on hot, emphasis on mess, far more serious than the title implies, post season 15 of rvb, thirst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 12:15:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16492427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He’s in the training room again.Wash knows the “Paladins” have their own training space on their weird ship-castle, far more advanced than anything Chorus has, with all of their efforts in rebuilding infrastructure. So why Shiro insists on using theirs every time Wash is teaching, he can’t grasp. There’s nothing that this relic of a base has that their ship doesn’t, Wash is certain, except for maybe Wash himself.Tucker insists that’s the reason. “He’s thirsting for you, dude,” he’d said just last night. “And if you don’t want him,I do, have you seen his fucking biceps?”Wash has, in fact, seen his biceps. And his thighs. And basically all of him.





	Magnum Opus of Shitposting: Team Dads Get Busy

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself i was never writing voltron again but my friend mentioned "hey what if Wash/Shiro?" and i went "well fuck" as I was already opening a new doc and then _i got encouraged_
> 
> I haven't watched past season... 3? of Voltron, and I have zero plans of continuing but goddamn it I loved this show before the fucking fandom ruined it for me and I'm gonna let myself enjoy this shitpost of a pairing.
> 
> hey sara and lem this is for you

He’s in the training room again.

Wash knows the “Paladins” have their own training space on their weird ship-castle, far more advanced than anything Chorus has, with all of their efforts in rebuilding infrastructure. So why Shiro insists on using theirs every time Wash is teaching, he can’t grasp. There’s nothing that this relic of a base has that their ship doesn’t, Wash is certain, except for maybe Wash himself.

Tucker insists that’s the reason. “He’s thirsting for you, dude,” he’d said just last night. “And if you don’t want him, _I do_ , have you seen his fucking biceps?”

Wash has, in fact, seen his biceps. And his thighs. And basically all of him. 

Maybe he’s the one thirsting, actually, because Shiro is absolutely his type and Wash has been hard up for _years_ at this point. He has no doubt that, if he asked, Shiro could hold him down and-

“Agent Washington?”

Wash drags himself out of the daydream. He’s _teaching_ , because the mercs may be gone but apparently Chorus’s Temples are sought after by more than Charon and the United Army of Chorus is needed again. He doesn’t have the luxury of daydreaming about being underneath the prettiest man he’s probably ever seen. Even if that man is muscular enough he could probably fuck Wash against a wall.

_Dammit, focus._

Somehow he wraps up the lesson without embarrassing himself and sends the cadets to the showers after. They’re not kids anymore, thankfully, Kimball expressly forbidding it, but they’re still too damn young to be fighting for their lives a second time.

“You’re good with them.”

Wash turns to face Shiro. He feels almost naked, without his armor, and it’s a vulnerability he’s not sure he’s comfortable with when he doesn’t know _what the fuck Shiro wants._ “They’re trying to show off to you, and they figure the best way to do that is to actually listen for once, I’m guessing.”

“Well, it worked. I’m impressed, but it’s obvious they have a good teacher.” Shiro should look ridiculous, lounging against the wall nearby in his high collared vest and the black shirt that hugs the curve of his muscles _get your head out of the gutter, Wash._ “‘Agent’ Washington, huh? I had sort of assumed it was your last name, not some sort of code name.”

“You thought I went by a shortened form of my last name?” Wash raised a brow.

“I mean, I do.” Shiro laughed softly when Wash tilted his head in confusion. “Takashi Shirogane. Shiro is just a nickname I picked up when I was learning to fly back on Earth.”

“You’re a pilot?” It had only been about a week since “Voltron” had arrived, and Wash hadn’t really interacted with any of them, just heard about the new threat( _Zarkon_ , finally, someone with a name more stupid than _Locus_ ) and gotten straight to work.

“Disappointed I’m a flyboy, Mr. Military?” The corner of Shiro’s mouth curls into something sly, and realization slams into Wash harder than a Warthog.

Shiro was flirting.

“I have to go, a, toaster just… flooded,” Wash says, and leaves the room too quickly to be anything but an escape. 

He locks himself in the officer’s showers five minutes later and smacks his head against the mirror a few times. “What was that?” he hisses at his reflection. Like usual, it has no answers. Wash scowls and strips down to scrub the sweat and _utter shame_ off him.

He jerks off to that sly smirk and the fantasy of it wrapped around _him_ instead of those teasing words.

 

* * *

 

Tucker laughs at him.

“It’s not funny!” Wash yells, which makes him laugh harder. A couple of people in the mess hall glance their way before turning back to their breakfasts.

“It’s fuckin’ _hilarious_ ,” Tucker wheezes, tears in his eyes. “A _toaster_ , Jesus. Wash, you’re a mess.”

“I know that,” Wash says miserably, and that sobers Tucker almost immediately.

“Yo, dude, I know I like to tease, but that wasn’t… what’s really going on?”

“Why does he want _me?_ ” Wash asks. “I’m… I’m not something worth-”

“Stop right there,” Tucker interrupts. “You’re hot as fuck and one of the few competent people on this planet. Why wouldn’t he want you?”

There's a long list, actually: too many scars, he barely sleeps, he’s more _trauma_ and _brain damage_ at this point than actual _person_. 

Tucker must sense where his thoughts are, because he reaches out to touch Wash's arm. “Hey, look. You're not broken. You're not unlovable or unattractive or whatever you were just thinking. You're a cool guy, and you deserve nice things, and one of those nice things is one hundred percent getting fucked hard. If you wanted to.”

Wash groans, burying his face in his hands. He definitely wants to, and he might just be selfish enough to take this up before Shiro learns the extent of what Wash has done. He just _wants_ in general. “That’s if he ever talks to me again, after last night.”

“He will. The freckles make it more adorable than anything.”

Wash’s tablet chimes with a message from Grey. She wants one more checkup before declaring him officially fit for duty. Wash should probably be more upset that he knows the procedure for having brain damage but he's accepted the fact his head is just the universe’s punching bag. 

“Go see Grey,” Tucker says. “I'll come find you for lunch.” There's a glint in his eye.

Wash frowns. “What are you planning?”

“To get you laid. Grey. Go.”

Wash knows better than to argue by now. “Yeah, I'm going.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro looks around the conference room his Paladins have commandeered. “Just because President Kimball gave us free run of the place doesn't mean you can just take over.”

“No one is using this space,” Pidge says from where she's perched on table, legs folded and laptop balanced on her knees. “The government is still in shambles from whatever civil war they just fought. Their data is encrypted incredibly well, though. I keep slamming into a firewall that sends pop up messages telling me to suck a dick, so that's fun.”

“What?” Lance scrambles up to sit next to her. “Oh my god, the exact wording is ‘choke on a cock and learn to code.’ Who made this? I love them.”

“Lance, Pidge, focus. We're having an intervention.” Hunk dragged Keith into the room behind him.

Shiro wasn't told about an intervention- oh. He turns and heads for the door, but Keith snags his arm and turns him around. “This is for your own good.”

“There's nothing wrong,” he protests, and Lance snorts.

“Shiro, please. You're thirsty enough I can feel it and it actually hurts me. Please either make out with Washington or- actually no, just make out with him already.”

Pidge's laptop chirps and she swears. She turns it around to show the screen black except for ‘It's Actually Pathetic.’

“It's like a slow motion train wreck,” comes from the speakers, and the holographic table turns itself on. A small, armored figure winks into being. “Horrifying and traumatizing, but _you can't look away._ ” 

“You're an AI,” Pidge says, delighted. 

“I'm Epsilon, actually, thank you. You, beefcake.” It points at Shiro. He chokes. “You are so Wash's type it's like he made you in a computer and it causes me real pain to watch. Please make a fucking move. Replace the-” It cuts off. “Half-competent coder, how old are you.”

“I'm Pidge, actually, thank you. Sixteen.”

The hologram glitches, flickers violet for a moment. “Sixteen, fantastic, never mind.”

“No, continue.” She gestures at Shiro. “This is hilarious.”

“Nnnnnope. Just, please, _make a fucking move_.”

“I did, he ran!”

“Tucker owes me for this,” the AI mutters. “Wash is a dumbass. Tactically brilliant, terrifying with a knife, but a dumbass. If I were to _guess_ ,” and can a computer sound uncomfortable? “I would say he thinks he doesn’t deserve this or you because he’s got some stupid hangups or whatever.”

“Oh, they’re made for each other, then,” Lance says dryly. Hunk smacks him.

“Oh this is gonna be a disaster,” Epsilon says, absolutely overjoyed, and disappears. The holographic table falls dormant again.

“You heard him,” Pidge says. “Make a fucking a move.”

Shiro throws up his hands and leaves.

 

* * *

 

Wash literally runs into Shiro on the way to see Kimball about being officially re-added to the duty roster. Shiro’s hands grab his arms to steady him and Wash has the conflicting desires to stab him and beg him to wrap his hands around something else.

“Washington,” he says. “I was looking for you.” What? “I wanted to apologize for last night.”

“No,” Wash says quickly. “I mean, you don’t have to, I…” The words he wanted slip from his grasp and he fights down a furious noise. “I got… overwhelmed? No one has… _anything_ with me for a long time.”

“I didn’t overstep?” he asks. Wash gives up trying to beat his brain into submission and shoves Shiro into the wall, pressing against him to kiss him. Shiro’s hands slide from his arms to his waist and hold tight enough that Wash is going to have fingertip bruises and that makes him shiver. Shiro bites on his bottom lip and he _whimpers_ , shameless.

Shiro pushes him back, barely, and Wash breaks the kiss to let him breathe. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m just a moron,” Wash says, and Shiro grins. 

“So I’ve heard. Allura and I have a meeting with President Kimball, but… I’m not doing anything after.”

Anticipation curls in Wash’s stomach for half a second before he remembers, “I have knife training with Simmons, Tucker, and a few cadets in a few hours.”

His tablet chimes at that moment, and he swears. Shiro lets him go so he can dig it out.

_**EPS:** tkr says not anymore you don’t, he and sms can run the basics for one lesson. or two. or as long as they’re here._

Wash frowns; he’s not sure how okay he is with Epsilon listening in on things, because it means- no, not going there. “Your place?” he asks Shiro.

Shiro kisses him again, quick and full of promise. “Sure, yes, absolutely.” He eyes dart to the side at the sound of footsteps.

Wash takes two steps back and composes himself in seconds; he’d made out in the halls of the MoI enough times to be fast at tugging his clothes back into place. “Shirogane,” he says, voice carefully neutral, as the the other Paladins and the two alien “Alteans” turn the corner. He brushes past them with a polite nod.

He heads straight to Tucker’s room. He knows Tucker has several hours free until knife lessons, and that it’s _Tucker_. If anyone has what he needs, it’s him.

He knocks, and smirks at the curse and flurry of noise he hears on the other side of the door. “Fuck off!”

“Tucker, open the door.”

“Wash? Shit, dammit, hold on.” More noise, frantic whispering, and the door swings open just enough for Tucker to poke his head out, hair sticking up everywhere. “Yeah?”

Wash pushes his way inside, shuts the door behind him, and steels himself. “I need condoms and I’d rather ask you than Grey.”

Tucker is dumbstruck for a heartbeat, then flings himself across his for the nightstand on the other side. The bedframe groans. Tucker throws a string of condoms and several packets of lube at Wash, who catches them and shoves them in his pocket. “I owe you for covering the class.” He hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. “And thank you, Locus. For saving my life.”

Tucker looks like a deer in headlights, and there’s a very quiet, “You’re welcome,” from under the bed.

“Let me know if you need help sneaking him out of Brioso,” he tells Tucker, and ducks back out into the hall.

He's not actually sure where to go after that; he and Shiro didn't set up a meeting place. He ends up pacing the lobby of the government building.

Why is he doing this? These Paladins are, if rumor is to be believed, some sort of intergalactic heroes, and Shiro is their _leader._ Wash is… Wash. Angry and bitter, and he abandoned any sense of morality years ago in favor of selfishness and survival. 

He remembers Shiro’s fingers digging into hips and is willing to be selfish again. 

Wash forces himself to stop pacing and instead perches on the currently unused welcome desk, pulling out his tablet and booting up one of the apps Grey installed to help retrain his brain in cognitive reasoning. This, too, was familiar: he used the same “games” in Recovery.

“You look cozy,” someone says, three games in. He looks up into the face of the female alien-Altean-whatever. Shiro looks mortified behind her, and the other four Paladins are snickering into their hands. 

“Ma'am?” he asks, unsure of what's happening. 

“If you hurt Shiro, I'll destroy you,” she says cheerfully. “But I trust you won't.”

“I'd rather he hurt me,” Wash says, then slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified. He forgot about _this_ , the complete loss of a verbal filter. Either he can't speak or he says too much. Fucking brain damage. 

The Altean doesn't kill him on the spot. She blushes, then laughs. “Well, I suppose I have nothing to worry about.” She extends a hand. “I'm Allura, Princess of Altea.”

Wash feels completely absurd as he shakes her hand. “Washington. Wash is fine.”

She smiles. “Wash. I hope I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow.” With that, she turns. “Lance, you said something about ‘Jeep racing’ earlier, and I want to know what kind of creature a Jeep is.”

Allura is pulled along by the two Paladins dressed in green. Shiro mutters something to the one in red- Wash hears the words ‘knife lesson’ and watches the boy's face light up.

“Training Room Six in two hours,” Wash says. “If you're interested in knife training. Mop the floor with Tucker and I'll take you on myself.”

“If you can walk tomorrow,” the boy says, smirking, and leaves, dragging the last Paladin with him.

“Keith,” Shiro calls after him in protest, but he looks smug. 

Wash slides off the desk and walks over, praying he's not actually vibrating with anticipation. “Well?”

“Coran stayed to talk politics with President Kimball and I'm sure the others will be busy for hours,” Shiro says quickly. “Plus my room is soundproof and locks.”

“Then why are we still here?” Wash asks. 

 

* * *

 

The door has barely shut behind him when Shiro shoves Wash against it, kissing him desperately, slipping a thigh between his legs. Wash gasps when he moves along the line of his jaw to bite down on his neck. Wash's hips buck, dragging his cock against Shiro's thigh and it takes so much willpower to not just rut until he comes that way.

He's been thinking about Shiro fucking him since Tucker brought it up that morning and and wave of arousal washes over him.

“Shiro, Shiro, wait wait wait.” Shiro pauses in his attempt to give Wash a goddamned string of hickeys. “Any hard limits?” 

“No?” he says. “Nothing that comes to mind. I'll tell you if I don't like something. You?”

“Don't touch the back of my neck,” Wash tells him. He wants to fuck Shiro, he doesn't _trust_ him. Not like that. 

“Okay,” Shiro says, then presses an open-mouthed kiss to the starburst scar on his throat.

“Oh fuck me,” Wash groans, tilting his head so Shiro can get to it better. That shouldn't feel that good. He can feel Shiro's cock pressed to the hollow of his hip and that's good, it's so good. Shiro chuckles against his neck, and Wash needs his pants off now. He pries Shiro off him and pulls his shirt off over his head.

Shiro's vest and shirt hit the ground seconds later, and Wash looks up from fumbling with his belt as Shiro yanks off one boot, stumbles, and falls on his ass. He looks up at Wash, wide eyed, and they both start snickering. 

Wash toes out of his sneakers- slip ons, he doesn't have the fine motor skills for laces back quite yet- and offers Shiro a hand. Shiro just grins and shoves him back against the wall, shifting fluidly to his knees and sliding Wash’s pants down his thighs.

The condoms in his pocket crinkle. Shiro pulls them out and looks up at Wash. 

“I know what I want,” Wash says simply, “and it's for you fuck me hard enough I feel it for days.”

Shiro's breath audibly catches. “I can do that.”

“Promises, promises,” Wash teases, and pulls Shiro to his feet to kiss him again. Blowjobs can happen next time, and _god_ , Wash hopes there's a next time. He wiggles out of his pants a moment later, tugs at Shiro's waistband. “C'mon, please, fuck me, please.”

Shiro steps back and urges Wash towards his bed. Wash shucks off his boxers as he goes, turning just in time to see Shiro step out of his pants. He scoops the condoms and lube from off the floor where he left them and turns to the bed. His eyes are dark and intent.

Wash snatches the lube and rips it open, coating his fingers. It's been a while, and he'd rather do this part himself. 

“God, Washington,” Shiro whispers as Wash presses a finger into himself, “you're beautiful.”

Something bitter unfolds in Wash's chest. He knows what he looks like. “You already have me in your bed, Shirogane, you don't ha- _ave_ to flatter me.” 

“Just the truth,” Shiro says. His hands twitch, like he wants to touch. Wash tries not to smirk, fails. He always did like a captive audience, and Shiro's eyes never waver. 

Wash gets to three fingers before he loses patience. “Okay, I'm good, please-” He gasps with surprise and delight when Shiro pushes him back. They fumble with condoms, but then Shiro is sliding into him and Wash forgets how to breathe. 

It's _so much_ , burns in the best of ways, and he can feel Shiro shivering with the strain of keeping still. Wash hooks his legs behind Shiro's back, pulls him even closer. 

“Nng, if you, keep that up, I'm gonna- _fuck,”_ Shiro curses sharply as Wash remembers how to relax and he bottoms out.

“That’s the idea,” Wash says, trying to catch his breath. This is good, with Shiro's cock nudging against his prostate and Shiro's body above him and Shiro's teeth biting another bruise into his neck, just below the exit scar.

“You're an _asshole_ ,” Shiro says into his skin, but Wash can feel him smiling. “You ready?”

“Just fuck me, Shirogane,” Wash tells him, then scrambles for something to hold on to as Shiro grinds down. 

Shiro smirks at the strangled sound Wash makes, just rolls his hips leisurely. He's slow and soft and Wash wants to cry at how he feels, like something precious and cared for.

Wash doesn't _do_ gentle, never has. He was an angry teenager and an angrier adult and it bled into everything. He pushed until it got him hurt or fucked, and if things went well he got both.

But Shiro doesn't do that. He fucks into Wash hard but not rough, the slow drag of his cock maddening and agonizing and so, so good. Wash tucks his face into Shiro's shoulder and shakes, tries to pull Shiro impossibly deeper, like he can fuck this feeling far enough into him it will stay.

Shiro gets his flesh hand between them and around Wash's cock. He doesn't last much longer after that, chanting Shiro's name as he comes. Shiro fucks him through it until Wash is whimpering and oversensitive and finally, finally comes. Wash hears fabric tear; Shiro's prosthetic has ripped a hole in the sheets.

“That good?” Wash finally manages. His voice is rough. 

“It's been a while for me, too,” Shiro admits, embarrassed, as he pulls out. He frowns. “You were crying.”

Wash wipes at his cheeks. Sure enough, they're damp. “‘S fine, it was good. _Really_ good.”

Shiro looks pleased. “Hold on, I'll be right back.” He presses a quick kiss to Wash's lips and slides off the bed. Wash props up on an elbow to watch as he strips and ties off the condom and disposes of it in the attached washroom. He comes back with a damp cloth, and Wash takes it from him. 

Shiro curls up next to him once he's wiped down. “Nap,” he says. “Or… you could stay the night?”

“We'll see,” Wash says, but tucks against Shiro's side anyway.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't stay. Wash gathers his clothes hours before dawn and makes his way out of the castle-ship. 

His tablet chimes the moment he's back on base.

_**EPS:** u couldve stayed hes super into u_

_**WSH:** Not really. _

_**EPS:** hes an adult wash he can make his own choices _

_**WSH:** Please stop talking about this._

Wash shoves the tablet back into his pocket and locks himself in the officer's showers.

 

* * *

 

Shiro sits in on another one of Wash's classes the evening after. Wash excuses the cadets when he's done and steels himself for whatever comes next: yelling, accusations, or just chilly anger.

“Did I do something wrong?” 

Wash's brain stalls out for a second. “What?”

“You just… left,” Shiro says. “And you've been avoiding me. Did I hurt you or, or make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Wash says quickly. “It's _me,_ not you. I'm… not someone you go after for, well, _more._ ”

“Because you killed people?”

Wash feels struck by lightning. Shiro shuffles his feet, looks away. “I talked to your friend, Tucker? And he told me. About Freelancer and you chasing them. No real details, just his side of things, but he said enough.”

“I don't understand.” If Shiro knows, why is he _here_? Why hasn't he left, disgusted and outraged?

“I think you're different, now.” Shiro finally meets his eyes with a shy smile. “I certainly want to find out for myself. But first, I have to know: did I do something wrong?”

Wash shakes his head. He's still scrambling to understand what he's just heard. “You. You want, what, to… to…”

“Whatever you're okay with,” Shiro says. “But there's a restaurant here in Brioso that's supposed to be good?”

Wash doesn't think he's ever been on a date. “Yeah, okay. I'm, uh, I'm free tomorrow?”

Shiro pulls him down for a kiss.

 

* * *

 

Eventually, “Team Voltron” has to leave: defenders of the universe or whatever. There's a big political ceremony where Allura gives a communicator to Kimball with the promise of aid while allowing Chorus to maintain independence and a whole lot of symbolism that Wash honestly doesn't care about.

He cares far more about Shiro on his knees that last night together, bringing Wash to the edge over and over until he sobbed. He cares about sweet, lingering kisses and Shiro bringing him coffee so sweet Wash actually enjoys it and a communicator of his own tucked into the bag he's taking back to the moon.

He cares about the way Shiro mumbled a promise to come back as soon as could.

He especially cares about the way he believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Wash's Symptoms of [Cerebral Hypoxia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cerebral_hypoxia), as of this fic:  
> \- poor concentration  
> \- trouble communicating  
> \- mood swings  
> \- "acting inappropriately" (lack of a verbal filter, in this case)


End file.
